Inevitability
by rAbiDmutt03
Summary: Of course life's unfair. It always is. Eragon never wanted anything but to be able to help his brother take their lives out of the dump. However, time and again, life shows him that it's never easy. And that one can't escape inevitability.


**Disclaimer**: It's my plot, with Paolini's characters. I also borrowed the names and descriptions of the characters from sussiekitten since I'm a lazy person.

**Authors Notes:** Here you are. A new Story. Some Ooc-ness here but manageable.

--

**Inevitability**

Again, there was rain.

It was odd, really, how the rain always knew when to keep Eragon company, when to serve as the heavy tears he refused to shed. Always it started out as few uncertain drops, a slight trickle which eventually turned into an angry downpour as the young child fell deeper into his contemplations. The rush of water hardly ever stopped, actually, and it was all their decrepit little apartment could do to withstand the ravages of nature. Distractedly, Eragon placed a bucket under another one of those damned leaks.

Murtagh was out working again, the second of his two small jobs which Eragon knew next to nothing about. All the time he would leave little Eragon home—or what little they could consider home—only to return in the earliest hours of the morning for precious few hours sleep. And then, come daylight once more, his little brother would just barely manage to greet him good morning before he would leave yet again for another job, with nothing but a small hurriedly made breakfast to show that he had been there at all.

Murtagh hated it, absolutely detested it, but he had no choice but to devote his time to work. They were barely getting by as they were now, even with him juggling the stress and demands of having double occupations, having to sacrifice the precious little time he could have with Eragon, time which had always been available when Selena was still alive. Yes, Selena. Her death had devastated the two brothers, both still quite young at the time, and shattered the brittle foundations their lives have been built on. Forced to fend for themselves, hiding from the authorities who would have forced them apart, they took on the full weight of each other's lives on their shoulders when their mother died. And that left them where they were now, living miserably, but living nonetheless; it was hardly an ideal lifestyle, but they were pulling through somehow.

Eragon huddled by the window, mesmerized by the soft pattering of rain on the glass. Idly, he wondered if things would ever change, if there would come a time when he wouldn't be just dead weight on his brother's back anymore. For too many days he had just sat there waiting—waiting for what, he didn't know—and for too many days he had felt terribly worthless and alone. He clenched his small fist, feeling a certain resolve creep its way onto his person. _Soon_, he thought to himself. _Soon I won't be so useless anymore._

--

Four years later found 14-yr-old Eragon in a dingy inn, angrily hauling garbage to the bins outside the Ra'zac inn's backdoor. Yet again he had been told off by the innkeeper for the most ridiculous of reasons, and as it was now, his month's pay had already been docked off by half just that week. It was times like these when he thought to himself humorlessly that a god really did exist, but that unfortunately, this god lived off seeing him suffer. Most of his life had already been nothing short of terrible and unbearable; surely a smidge of pity was due him at some point, wasn't it?

He dumped the foul trash into the bin furiously, slamming the lid close with a loud bang and then kicking the metal side in frustration. Turning sharply back towards the run-down door leading to the kitchen, he grumbled profanities under his breath, clenching his fists tightly in a weak attempt to stem off pent-up rage. Vaguely, he registered a light feeling nausea as he went back in, but shook it off as fatigue before turning to his other chores. He may have had just fifteen minutes of work left, but fifteen minutes was long enough for the sadistic, unjust old fool to deduct even _more _from his pay. It was definitely not the time to take a break, no matter how unpleasant he may feel.

Less than an hour later, Eragon was well on his way home, walking along the most dejected neighborhood in Carvahall city. Kicking a rusty old can in his path as a new target of his ire, he thought bitterly to himself how he had sunk so low in the ladder.

At first, Murtagh had been dead set against his taking on a job himself. Many times he had refused Eragon's persistent pestering on the topic, and by sheer hard-headedness alone, the younger one had just decided to take matters into his own hands and get a job himself, with or without Murtagh's approval. Of course the fight that ensued between the brothers afterwards had been severe at best and had yet to be forgotten by their neighbors, who had to stay awake through the night listening to their shouting. But in the end, Murtagh had had no choice but to give in, out of fondness for Eragon and his thoughtfulness. Now, Eragon grimly wondered whether taking up work was a good idea after all.

Stopping by a small, slightly drab convenience store near their house, Eragon went to visit his neighbor and long-time friend Saphira. Unlike Eragon, who apparently had terrible luck in the job business, Saphira had been fortunate enough to land a spot there as a cashier, sadly the last opening in the store, much to Eragon's dismay. Even though the store was quite old and seemingly always in dire need of reliable cleaners, it was actually a very decent workplace, and its owner, grumpy old Brom, was quite nice, once you see past his gruffness. At any rate, the young Rider would have preferred working there than at the Ra'zac, given the chance, but he currently had no choice as the inn was one of the rare establishments which took in 14-year-olds as employees.

The door chime started noisily as Eragon went in through the door. Approaching the counter after greeting Mr. Brom by the aisles (he had received a stiff nod in return), he saw that Saphira was just about to finish ringing up a customer. A short while later, the customer was already halfway through the door, lugging a far heavier bag of groceries than what Murtagh and Eragon had ever managed to buy in one go. Saphira turned, noticing him at last.

"Hey, Eragon!" she started cheerily, then winced at his disheveled state. "You look terrible! Scratch that. You look even worse than usual."

Eragon glanced down at his torn and mucked up jeans and shirt, then at the numerous wounds decorating his arm, wincing as well in agreement. It seemed the tasks Sloan had given him had roughed him up more than he realized.

"I think you're right on that one, Saph. Uhh…" he trailed his gaze once more forlornly at his outfit, then slumped dejectedly. "You think Murtagh will notice?"

Hopeful brown eyes begged for some sort of reassurance from his friend, a hope which was dashed quickly by Saphira's blunt reply.

"Are you kidding me?" she said, raising her eyebrow at the brown-haired teen. "It's Murtagh. At the very least he'll have a fit. You know how he gets, especially after last time."

And therein lay another problem with Eragon's job. Murtagh hated Sloan with a passion, just as much as Sloan detested Murtagh. How Eragon managed to convince Murtagh to let him keep his job at the Ra'zac was a miracle in itself, and as for Sloan, the only reason he even hired Eragon was to make his life more miserable than it already was. The last time Eragon came home torn and bloodied, his brother had almost stormed the Ra'zac in a blaze of rage, and as it was, that story was another one which was better soon forgotten.

Eyes widening in horror, Eragon slumped into one of the chairs provided for the store's snacking customers. Realizing the full implications of what maybe another disaster in bloom, his mind temporarily withdrew into itself, already presenting possible survival tactics he could use when he got home. Zombie-like as he was then, he barely registered Saphira shaking her head at him, half in amusement and half in exasperation, and bidding Brom goodbye before going into the back room to get changed and to get her things. He was only torn out of his daze when the blonde finally returned to where he was sitting, snapped her fingers in his face, and then dragged him by the arm up and out the door in one fluid movement. The door chimed loudly in their wake.

"Come on, Eragon. No time for morbid daydreaming. What time will your brother be home?" Saphira said simply, still dragging him by his scratched arm.

Finally out of his self-induced nightmare, he managed to reply.

"Hey, where are we going? And why do you suddenly have an interest in my brother's schedule?" he said, confused and still a little out of it.

"As you can see, we're headed into my house to get you cleaned up. And we have to do it quickly unless you want Murtagh to be coming home to an empty apartment and waiting for you with a lot of questions. Honestly, Eragon. Your brother is much too overprotective as it is, without you constantly giving him reason to be overprotective."

Eragon drew breath to argue but stopped when he realized that he wouldn't win anyway, especially not against Saphira. Instead, he settled for an offended huff, and a grumbled "But it's not my fault Sloan is an evil bastard." under his breath. Saphira rolled her eyes and let go of him with a smile, and he followed the blonde girl through an alley which took them a bit further away from his and Murtagh's apartment and eventually to Saphira's house.

Arriving at their destination, Saphira proceeded to open the triple locks on her door and stepped inside, immediately heading off down a hall. Eragon came in hesitantly through the door. The wave of nausea was back again and suddenly the room was spinning. Blinking his eyes to keep oriented, he sat himself on the old, gray couch in the house's little living room.

As Saphira apparently had it in her mind to be hasty, he didn't need to wait long before she emerged once again from the hall, carrying a small white kit with a plain red cross printed on its side. At once she set to work, cleaning all the gashes and wounds on his arm, and washing off the worst of the blood and grime. Now and then she dabbed hard enough for Eragon to wince in pain, and Eragon had to keep himself from commenting that his friend would never make a good nurse. And as quickly as they had come there, she was done, standing up to inspect her work. She nodded once in contentment and left the room once again to replace the medical kit in its place. When she came back in the living room, she noticed something off. She frowned slightly.

"You're looking a little pale, Eragon." she said, placing her palm on his forehead. "And I don't think your wounds have anything to do with it."

Eragon brushed her hand away then stood up, inspecting his arms and fingers for himself. Saphira hadn't put bandage on them as they would be too noticeable, and Eragon just hoped they wouldn't bleed again or he'd have a lot of explaining to do with Murtagh. As he did so, another wave of dizziness overcame him, which he tried to squash in favor of getting home quickly. Unknowingly, he staggered.

"I'm sure I'm just tired, Saph. Thanks for the help. I have to get home now or Murtagh will have that fit after all." he said, turning towards the door.

He didn't get two steps before the world swirled before his eyes. He never even felt it as he collapsed onto the living room, never even realized it when blackness started to overcome him. The last vague memory he could recall was looking through half-lidded eyes up at Saphira, and barely being able to give a silent plea.

"Don't tell Murtagh..." He managed to whisper, before the darkness took him.

--

Murtagh had been uneasy lately; something in him was just screaming that something was off and terribly wrong. It didn't ease his worries that his brother was adamant about keeping his job as Sloan's slave, despite all his protests about the topic and despite the obvious reasons not to continue working there. Today, the feeling had been especially persistent, leaving him distracted at work and earning him two earfuls from his bosses in both jobs.

Eragon didn't realize it, but Murtagh took notice of just about everything about his little brother, keeping Eragon under constant watch. And today, while Eragon had seemed perfectly fine when he left for work, Murtagh's instincts told him to be wary and not let his guard down. Call it mother hen instincts, if you may, but Murtagh knew, just knew that something was about to go terribly wrong. He was right of course, although he wouldn't find out until much later.

After an especially nerve-wracking day, Murtagh found himself back at the doorstep of their home, jiggling the doorknob of the old door. It was locked, though that was nothing new. After all, Murtagh had instructed Eragon to never leave the door open, even when he was home, because in their neighborhood, it never hurt to be extra careful. So, finding nothing amiss with the door as usual, Murtagh stepped inside, only for the gnawing feeling to return full force once he set foot in their cramped living room.

"Eragon? You here? I'm home."

No reply. He started checking the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom. Nothing.

The plates from breakfast still lay unwashed in the sink, and the two beds in the room remained undisturbed and smoothed out. Eragon still wasn't home. Murtagh shrugged. After all, Sloan made Eragon stay behind from time to time with some extra chores he needed to be done. Murtagh would just have to wait for him to come back. And then forcibly remind Eragon never to make him worry like that ever again. Oh, and before you ask, Murtagh did _not _have a brother complex. Nope. The dark-haired teen set off to cooking dinner, still not getting rid of that damn nagging sensation.

--

Saphira sat in the waiting room of the Carvahall General Hospital, waiting to hear news of Eragons' condition. When Eragon had passed out cold on her living room, she immediately left him on her couch and ran off to find Murtagh, despite Eragon's request. However, seeing that the older male hadn't come home yet, she sought help from Thorn, another close friend living in their neighborhood, who nearly had a heart attack when he saw Eragon's prone form and when Saphira told him what had happened. Unable to get hold of a phone to call in an ambulance, Thorn and Saphira lifted Eragon onto Thorn's back and carried his pale and bleeding form to the hospital themselves.

Hearing footsteps, Saphira turned to see Thorn back, bringing two cans of melon juice. Thankful, she accepted one of the cans and greedily drank, refreshing her dry throat.

"Don't worry so much. He'll be fine." Thorn's deep voice rumbled inside the small waiting room. They were the only ones there aside from a poor middle-aged couple sitting and fidgeting nervously some distance from them.

Saphira turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

"You're one to talk. I never knew the great Thorn could panic like that. Almost like a distressed mom." Saphira smiled teasingly, something like a smirk but more elegantly feminine.

Thorn grinned back.

"That's Mr. Strong Distressed Mom, to you," he said, chuckling lightly and dispelling the slightly sour mood which hung in the room. They fell into a more comfortable, albeit still tense, silence, before it was once again broken by the big red-headed male.

"I hope the little guy is okay," he said, putting into words what they both had in mind.

"Me too," Saphira replied simply.

--

They didn't have to wait much longer before a dark-skinned woman wearing doctor's ornaments entered the room and approached them. Worriedly, they stood up, and then the doctor introduced herself.

"I am Dr. Nasuada Black. And you must be Mr. Eragon Rider's friends I presume?"

"How is he?" Saphira asked, not answering the doctor's question.

"For now, Mr. Rider will be fine. It was nothing too drastic, really, especially none involving anything like surgery."

Saphira released the breath she had been holding, and seemed to relax. Dr. Nasuada Black gave her a level stare which brought back all the fears she had released with he breath.

"As I've said, Mr. Rider will be fine for now." she paused, considering her next words. "But I'm afraid we don't know for how long this will last."

Thorn and Saphira froze in horror as the implications of her words started to sink in. The doctor continued, confirming their grim realizations.

"Eragon is very sick...And we don't know how much time he has left."

--

**Author's Notes: **Here you are! This is an angsty new story which I present to you in lieu ofan update of "Walk me Home". I hope you all like it! Oh, and I wrote this out of my head without editing so it would be fresh. I find that I can't write when I think too much, so I just wrote and posted. Yep. That's what you call "winging it". Still, I think I did okay. Read and Review please!


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